


An Everyday Disguise

by oppressa



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Guilt, Interspecies, Porn Battle, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oppressa/pseuds/oppressa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one must know who the Shadow Broker really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Everyday Disguise

**Author's Note:**

> For the Porn Battle XII prompt, 'loss'. Ended up not being overly porny because of mind-style Asari sex and also possibly contains some phrases Liara would never use, still, I hope someone enjoys.

She wants to help him as they work together to rebuild the base. Liara can see he is staying to repay her, only he still has this block on being honest with her, an edge to him she can't quite get around.

His young voice states dry information even softer than it did before, the buzz underneath dulled and worn out from screaming. But he doesn't like to talk about it, about that, two years of being tortured by the organization he used to collect from and thinking she was never going to come back for him. It is not Liara's intent to pry, although she is curious, also wary of growing too close. Feron isn't anyone's idea of a safe bet.

“You work too hard, Liara.” He rasps in the darkness behind her, and she starts, embarrassed as she turns around (at least he didn't find her sleeping this time). “You're losing yourself in this.”

He stays out of the glare emanating from the feeds and she can't see very much of him. The clearest thing is reflections of her visuals shining off the black facets of his eyes. But that's okay. When they met he didn't show her his face for some time either.

“It's only right.” She defends herself, hands planted on the structure behind her for support as she stands defiantly to show him her total conviction, because he is accurate in his surmise, she is so tired. “No one must know who the Broker really is.”

“I know who you are.” He says, stepping into the illumination provided by the bank of screens. He is smiling and she smiles back, glad he can manage that after everything they did to him, thinking _yes_ , _maybe he is improving_ , _maybe I could say something_...

She doesn't need to as he finally closes the space between them. All she has to do is let him press her against the border of controls, back down until she is seated, one hand around the back of his neck to steady herself as he clutches too-hard at her hips.

“You are beautiful.” Feron swallows, a rare genuine compliment vibrating in his throat, through the metal chair and down her spine, “I shouldn't have used you like that.”

The patterns the shadows throw across his mottled skin are interesting. Drell physiology is not her strong subject, and she is apprehensive, but she is so ready for this, has been for a while without properly cataloguing, _realizing_ , the nature of her enquiry. His thin fingers rip a hole in her pant leg she can't bring herself to chide him for and then trail down the inside of her thigh, pale blue in this harsh light when she's sure her face must be flushing much darker.

It is good that he has never been formal with her, only short and then afterwards, several variants of charmingly awkward. The Broker's contacts, _her_ contacts, chatter on unknowingly over their heads and they take no notice at all, removing each other's clothing as if there is some kind of haste involved after all this time has elapsed. This is very different to most things she has done before, an instantaneous, moment-fuelled courtship, but she is enjoying it and she falls further into the blackness of his eyes with every passing second. They blink both ways and she knows he is experiencing the same in her own.

She nuzzles his frills, sensing them fluctuate as she loses herself to him, not the Broker's network or identity, not anyone else. Feron.

She reaches out to detect the fried endings of his shredded nerves, pleasure flaring as they connect with hers and he shudders, murmurs her name. Feron's skin is tough and smooth to touch in different places, and he has so many strengths of bad memories, not at all conducive to sustaining a pure union, but Liara does not break. She shows him the remnants of how she felt when she thought he was gone, searched for him without knowing what she would find and the dark parts of him cannot push through that onslaught, folding into her embrace. She is gasping against his sensitive neck as she climaxes, leaning her cheek on his armoured shoulder.

Liara has said many times, _Feron_ , _I'm so sorry_ , but never, “I'm sorry you had to go through all of that on my behalf.”

He stares at her, level, holding nothing back (no more hiding his intentions in the folds of his coat), and she gets the feeling he has never replied, “Liara. I'm fine,” with as full a truth behind the words as he does now.


End file.
